


Hotter than Hell

by ishafel



Category: Rescue Me
Genre: M/M, Yuletide 2007
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-08
Updated: 2014-02-08
Packaged: 2018-01-11 16:01:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1175007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ishafel/pseuds/ishafel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The sad thing is, this thing with Mike isn't even the craziest thing Tommy's done this year.  Yuletide 2007</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hotter than Hell

**Author's Note:**

  * For [fuschia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fuschia/gifts).



There are things you don't do, even if you're Tommy Gavin. Things that, if you do them, you pretend you didn't, you pretend you were drunk, high, someone else, you bury the memories and salt the earth.

Catholics are good at guilt. Gavins are good at repression.

Tommy's dad has been dead for three weeks the night he lets Mike Siletti go down on him in the kitchen in the firehouse with the other guys asleep upstairs. And Tommy isn't even drunk when it happens, and he'd feel guilty about it except Jesus fucking Christ, it's the best blowjob he's ever had. He used to think Janet was good, back when they were both kids and he'd been with exactly three other women in his entire life, one of whom was so drunk she puked before he came.

He used to think Sheila was good, that greedy little mouth, sharp little teeth, the element of danger because you could never forget that Sheila was completely batfuck crazy.

But Mike is in another fucking category entirely. Mike might as well be from another fucking planet.

Tommy thinks of him like a big, dumb puppy, with those mopey brown eyes and that eager smile. Except Charlie, who's an actual dog, has the wisest, tiredest eyes of anyone he's ever seen. So mostly he thinks of Mike as a kid, a not very bright kid, good at fighting fires as long as you tell him exactly what you want him to do. He's a probie, and if he's in the house fifty years he'll still be a probie.

There's nothing sexy about Mike. He doesn't even have tits, for Christ's sake. So even though Tommy's gotten to the point where the gay thing, or the bi thing, or the what the fuck ever thing doesn't completely creep him out anymore, Tommy doesn't think of Mike as fuckable. He doesn't check Mike out in the showers, he doesn't drop shit and watch Mike pick it up, he doesn't joke about Mike's body to see if he'll blush. 

Lately he's been getting this vibe from little Mikey, though. Like maybe Mike is the one doing the flirting. Like Tommy is the one getting his ass scoped out. It's a weird feeling, kind of sexy but mostly gross. Tommy doesn't like it, mostly because it makes him feel like he ought to apologize to every woman whose rack he's ever stared at across a crowded bar. Which, realistically, would take him the rest of his damn life.

So he avoids Mike, or at least avoids being alone with him, because hey, Tommy Gavin is no cocktease. But if he's honest with himself--and he tries pretty fucking hard not to be, most days--he's a little curious. He's done anal, so he knows how the logistics work, mostly, but he's not sure about where everyone's hands go, things like that. That probably any straight guy wonders about, at some point. So when Mikey finally corners him in the kitchen, Tommy isn't as alarmed as maybe he should be. He leans against the counter with his water bottle, and wishes he still fucking smoked so he'd have something to do. And he lets Mike zero in on him like he's looking for someone to save. And maybe Tommy wants to be saved.

Maybe he wants Mike's hips to brush against his, maybe he wants Mike to lean past him to reach something sitting on the edge of the sink. Maybe he's already half hard by the time Mike's hand grazes his dick through his jeans and both of them flinch. Mike does that crooked smile thing he does, one side of his mouth going up and the other going down, and Tommy smiles back at him like he's fucking begging for it, because he can't help himself.

He should be shocked, when Mikey's mouth is on his and Mikey's hand is on his package, but somehow he doesn't mind. He closes his eyes, even, and he doesn't pretend Mike is someone else. It isn't that different than it is with a woman, which is probably more of an indictment of the chicks Tommy's been with than it is of Mike; he'd have to be pretty rough, pretty nasty, to be worse than they are.

Mike's aggressive, but he's gentle, too, which is smart, because he's probably thinking Tommy's two seconds from panicking, even though actually he isn't. He's probably expecting Tommy to protest when his fingers stop massaging and start unzipping. He tastes like fire, not cigarette smoke but burning buildings, and he smells like Tommy's father, which is comforting for reasons Tommy doesn't intend to think about.

And he has his hands inside Tommy's fly, which is just hot.

Tommy's fingers are wrapped so tight around the edge of the counter he doesn't think he'll ever get them unbent. When Mikey drops to his knees he doesn't even breathe, because if he opens his mouth anything that comes out is going to be loud and embarrassing as shit, and the last thing he wants is Franco or Black Shawn coming in to see what the fuck is going on.

So when Mikey's soft, warm, wet mouth closes around his dick, finally, all Tommy does is sort of squeak. It's fucking miraculous, that mouth, and by this point in his life Tommy has a pretty good sampling to compare it to. And there's none of that crap with teeth being in the wrong place, or whining about Tommy's being too rough and Mike has to breathe, doesn't he. Mike just sucks him down, so far in Tommy suddenly develops a whole new respect for the kid.

It doesn't take very long, which is good, because Tommy doesn't want Mike getting any clever ideas about what to do with his fingers, or reciprocation, or anything like that. Tommy's curious, but he ain't that curious. So he comes, and it's fantastic, mind-blowing, might even be the best orgasm of his life. And Mike's still kneeling on the floor panting, and Tommy's still leaning against the counter panting, when the alarm goes. And Tommy's grateful, all over again, for fucking New York City, the city that burns. 

There isn't time for him to anything more than zip up his fly and smile at Mike, and that, that makes this the sweetest blowjob of Tommy's fucking life.


End file.
